


I Want You Stuffed Into My Mouth, Hold You Down And Tear You Open

by readbetweenthelions



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Blood, Blood and Gore, Evisceration, Gore, Graphic Description, Graphic Description of Corpses, M/M, Murder, Strangulation, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 17:52:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/903128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readbetweenthelions/pseuds/readbetweenthelions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When it all gets too much, when he can't keep the red behind his eyes at bay, Sulu kills people. But can he keep his killer urges away from sweet, loving Pavel?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Want You Stuffed Into My Mouth, Hold You Down And Tear You Open

**Author's Note:**

> major warnings for all the stuff i tagged, so if you think any of the murder herein might upset you, i urge you to stay away. be safe friends!!

Sulu runs grubby fingers through grubbier hair. It’s been days since he ate, he thinks, but who can really tell anymore? It could be years. His hands are brown with dry blood, and the stuff that got under his fingernails has gone black. There are flies. There are always flies. They never cease. 

He looks at the person across the room. They don’t move – they never really do. He looks more through them than at them. 

“Hey, it’s not all bad, right?” he says to them, grinning like it’s an inside joke. It’s not, but it’s also not really a grin either. It’s more of a lips-pulled-back, teeth-bared, mutated grimace. Sulu is not sure if he’s ever smiled another way. Maybe it’s always been like this. 

It is dark in this room, but that’s the way it has to be. Darkness. It smells, too, but he’s long since stopped noticing it. He’s used to it, but it’s definitely getting worse. It’s both of them. It’s Sulu and the other person, both of them, making the place smell foul. 

His feet feel numb, but he _has_ been sitting in one place for a very long time. Circulation cut off. He should move, probably, so the tissue doesn’t die. Die. 

Die. 

… 

Sulu opens his eyes, and it’s bright. The fluorescent lights are always bright in this cubicle, bouncing off all those terrible muted tones – greys and browns and white white whites. Many times, Sulu has wanted to put some color in here – red, a lot of red, anything but insufferable white – but he’s afraid. He needs this job. He can’t let it slip away, not yet at least. He can’t let them know. 

Sulu tries to block out the sounds of life around him. People talking, always talking talking talking, in their cubicles and in the hallways and on the phone and to each other and to themselves. Talking. Sulu doesn’t talk to anyone, unless he has to. 

Now, he has to. 

“Mr. Sulu,” says a voice behind him. He knows it. It’s cold and dispassionate and controlled, the opposite of what Sulu feels inside, hot and boiling and angry and so, so out of control. Sulu turns his chair to face Spock. “Did you complete the spreadsheets you were assigned?” 

“I – ” Sulu starts to say, and then, “No. I didn’t.” 

“Well,” Spock says, “May I suggest you complete them?” It seems polite. It is not. It is hostile, office-hostile, where you don’t say things like, “I hate you” and “I want to rip out your throat with my bare hands” and “I want to feel your blood running hot down my wrists, you scum.” You can’t say those things, even if you want to. And God, does Sulu want to. 

“Yes,” Sulu says, and as an afterthought, “sir.” 

Spock leaves. Bizarrely, Sulu doesn’t want him to. He wants him to come closer, closer, so that Sulu can wrap fingers tight around his neck, rip and tear into him, destroy him from the outside in – 

Sulu shakes his head. Things behind his eyes are red, red, red, and he looks at the white lights overhead to drive it away. It doesn’t work. 

… 

This is the most he’s ever liked Spock, if he’s honest. 

Spock makes a wheezing noise, though Sulu is not sure whether it comes from his throat or one of several dozen holes in his chest. Any minute now that second lung is going to collapse. Probably. Blood is still oozing, still coming in spurts, but slower and slower, because there’s not much left. His eyes are closing. That, at least, was something Sulu had come to admire about Spock over their time together like this – Spock had kept his eyes open, for the most part. He’d watched it all, every single thing Sulu did to him. It was a pity to see those eyes close. Just when they had been so observant. So full of _emotion._

Sulu is nearly as drenched in Spock’s blood as Spock is, which he considers to be an achievement – it’s a miracle he ever saw Spock in anything but red, considering that’s all he is now. He has dozens of cuts, all over his torso and arms and face. Chunks of flesh are missing where crisscrossing slices cut them away. Spock’s shirt is tattered and what was once light blue is now dark, dark red. 

Suddenly, Sulu realizes that the only breathing in the room is his own. It’s over. It’s over. 

There’s an ache near his heart. Maybe he misses it already, the rush, the sound of his own blood pounding in his ears and the saliva welling in the recesses of his mouth. It could also be an ache in his ribs, where one of Spock’s elbows managed to connect before Sulu sedated him. 

He hadn’t really expected this, if he was honest with himself. He had been _really_ out of control. He’d been hoping to save a little bit of it. Sulu laughs at the idea of Spock in a doggie bag in Sulu’s fridge. Well, there’s something salvageable, at least – 

Sulu kneels and hacks away at the join between Spock’s right leg and his hip, sawing through flesh and ligament to separate the limb from the body. 

… 

Sulu meets Pavel the next day. Sulu can’t stop chewing his nails, making sure every trace of Spock’s blood is out from under them. He’s scrubbed them dozens of times, but he keeps seeing it. No one will look that closely at his hands, he thinks, but what if they do? 

Pavel is small and thin and an angel with curly golden hair. He’s sitting a few stools down from Sulu, all bright eyes and vodka drinks that hide the taste of the alcohol. Sulu has never been one for those things. He likes his alcohol straight and burning into his throat and sinuses. 

It reminds him that he is alive, and mortal, and deadly. Sulu wants to spit acid, and this is as close as he comes. 

Pavel talks to him first. Sulu doesn’t talk to people, unless he has to. Now, he has to. 

“Hello,” Pavel says, sitting down on the stool next to Sulu. He has an accent. Eastern European. “Is this seat taken?” 

Sulu looks sideways at him. He doesn’t often look people straight in the eyes. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, then he doesn’t want anyone to see the tenants of his soul. They might _know._

“No,” Sulu says, looking down into his drink, “Go ahead.” 

Pavel perches on the stool like a delicate bird, and orders two drinks. One for himself, one for Sulu, as he soon finds out. 

“My name is Pavel,” says Pavel. He takes a sip of his drink and watches Sulu. Sulu’s heart beats in his ears and his throat clenches. What does he want? He must _know –_

“Hikaru,” Sulu replies. Pavel smiles. Sulu watches the muscles under his face, desperately wanting to know what they would look like without skin. 

That night, Sulu scrapes his teeth along the skin of Pavel’s neck, and Pavel groans under his touch. Sulu leaves a trail of saliva with his kisses. Roughly – _too roughly, be gentle, or he’ll find out_ – Sulu pushes Pavel down onto his bed. Pavel grins up at him, cheeks pink with blush, and body naked in the semi-darkness. Light streams in the window from the streetlights outside Pavel’s apartment, and Sulu leans over Pavel like a vulture. 

They fuck hot and passionate and still slightly drunk, and under Sulu’s hands he can feel Pavel’s pulse, so close under the skin of the wrists Sulu has pinned to the bed. He can feel urges welling inside him. No. No. Not now… 

Pavel comes and it jerks Sulu out of the whirlpool in his mind. Pavel makes soft noises in the aftermath of his orgasm, short and sweet and so _human._ Sulu kisses him to drink him in, to devour all those little human things. Maybe, if he does, he can be human too. 

Sulu can feel Pavel’s pulse under his fingers, but he lets Pavel live through the night. He leaves in the morning while the sun is streaming down on Pavel’s sleeping angelic face, knowing he has touched Pavel with something demonic. 

… 

Sulu doesn’t usually go to the doctor’s. He’s always been of the opinion that if you can’t fight it off without medication, then you deserve to die of it. The man in the cubicle next to his had noticed his constant sniffling and expressed a concern for him. “You should see a doctor about that, man,” he’d said, “You’ve been sniffing all week.” 

So here Sulu was. Waiting on the padded table in a doctor’s office – Doctor McCoy, if he remembered correctly. Sulu stares at the poster across from him, an illustration of a man sliced on a plane down the middle to expose the inner workings of the nose and throat. Sulu wonders how difficult that would be to pull off. 

There’s a knock at the door, and then the doctor steps in with his white, white lab coat and clean metal clipboard. 

“Mr. Sulu,” says Doctor McCoy, glancing up only momentarily from his clipboard before sitting and turning to enter Sulu’s information into his computer. 

“I’ve been sick for a while,” Sulu says, and it feels almost like saying _I’ve been killing people for a while,_ “And I figured it was just a cold but it’s not going away.” 

“Hmm,” says the doctor. He takes Sulu’s information, what medication are you on _(none)_ , does this or that disease run in your family _(no)_ , do you smoke do you drink do you do drugs _do you kill people –_

Sulu tries to stay abreast of a rising tide of panic and anger. The doctor takes his blood pressure and pulse and declares it to be a little high, but nothing worrisome. He examines ear, nose, throat, and comes up with the diagnosis of _sinus infection._ He prescribes antibiotics. He tells Sulu to eat yogurt while he’s on them to keep him from developing diarrhea. “Mr. Sulu,” the doctor says. Eyebrows knit in concern. “Is everything else okay?” 

_Everything else is not okay,_ Sulu thinks, but says, “Yeah, everything is fine. Thanks, Doc.” 

… 

“Doctor,” Sulu says, reaching in through the slit in McCoy’s belly. McCoy is screaming against his gag, and it’s muffled, but Sulu can hear the pain in it, and he shivers in delight. He turns his hand to spread the incision open farther, and the screaming redoubles. “Doctor, you shouldn’t have said anything to me.” 

McCoy’s innards are hot and slick with his blood. Sulu slips his fingers over them, knowing he won’t always have this chance. McCoy had been a surgeon. He’s probably felt this same thing, but through gloves. Sulu is closer to a human being than McCoy has ever been, and it tastes sweet on his tongue. “Doctor, I didn’t need a fucking _psych eval._ I came to you for a sinus infection. You are so _stupid._ ” 

McCoy is scowling, hard, like Sulu’s never seen anyone scowl. He’s complaining against the gag, and Sulu wants to kill him _then,_ just to make that stop. Instead, he grips the doctor’s intestines and yanks. 

There’s a high-pitched keening to McCoy’s muffled scream, long and drawn out and full of exquisite pain. 

“Doctor, there’s not many nerves in here,” Sulu reprimands. “It can’t possibly be _that_ bad.” 

McCoy’s breath huffs around the gag, labored. His eyes are trained on Sulu, but they’re going unfocused, looking far away and jerking back to Sulu and then far away again. Eyelids flutter. He loses consciousness. 

Lucky him. 

Sulu reaches up inside the cavity of McCoy’s body. He feels the thin walls of his stomach, and the press of his diaphragm, and his ribs, so much closer without all that skin in the way. He wants to savor this, to feel that heart beating so close, yet just out of reach beyond his ribs… 

Sulu sinks his nails into McCoy’s organs and pulls. He feels his self-control leave him and he barely sees anything beyond the red, red, red behind his eyes. He tears over and over again, until he’s drenched in the doctor’s blood, and that heart in his ribcage has stopped beating. 

Sulu stands for a long time, looking at the mutilated corpse and the guts spilling out of it. The room smells already, not like decay, but like the contents of the doctor’s guts, stomach acid and half-digested food. Sulu is dizzy but remains upright. McCoy was a surgeon. Only fitting that he should take a hand – or better yet, an arm. 

… 

“Hi,” Pavel says on the phone. Sulu closes his eyes against the white, white office lighting. “I had a really good time the other night, and I wanted to ask you if…” 

Sulu is not really paying attention. He liked Pavel – or rather, he liked the physicality of Pavel, his body and the way it moved and his heart beat under his skin. So, he doesn’t want to hurt Pavel. But he wants to hurt _someone._

The urges come closer and closer together now, blinding and hot in his brain and his spine and stretching in his limbs. Sulu threw away the small plant that had been in his cubicle because it gave the place color, and what he needs now more than ever is the pale on pale on pale of the office, keeping the red at bay. 

“…date sometime?” Pavel is saying. 

“Yeah,” Sulu says. “That would… be great.” Sulu can feel Pavel smiling on the other side of the telephone. 

“How about Saturday?” Pavel asks. 

“Saturday is good,” Hikaru says. He has to find someone before then. He can’t let this out around Pavel. 

… 

He doesn’t know her, but her nametag says Nyota. She’s taller than him in her heels, long of limb and neck. Who she is isn’t really important to him. What’s important is what she’ll be after he’s done with her. 

“I don’t really want to do this, you know,” Sulu says. He examines the things he brought; sharp, bright, clean, for now. 

“Then why are you doing it?” she sobs. He’d decided to leave her ungagged – he’d never done that before. It felt strange to talk to them. It’s exhilarating, though. This is the first time he’s really heard her voice. Spock and McCoy, he’d known them, known their sound, envisioned 

“Because there is a person I don’t want to hurt,” Sulu shrugs. “We have a date tomorrow.” He selects a long, thin sword – it was a birthday present, a few years ago. He’s never really thought much of it. 

“Who are you, Nyota?” Sulu asks. She is an intern at his office, and he sees her sometimes, bustling by with papers for the higher-ups. He doesn’t really have anything against her, not like Spock, but he can’t let this out around Pavel, he can’t, he can’t, he _can’t –_

She is crying but she doesn’t look afraid so much as angry. Her tears roll thick from her cheeks, uncontrollable, and Sulu watches them like they’re a mirror. He’s not used to seeing something other than fear in their eyes. He wonders if this will be more satisfying. 

“I _said,_ who _are you?_ ” Sulu says again, advancing with the sword gripped expertly in hand. When he was young, his mother put him through fencing lessons. To vent his aggression. It didn’t work. 

“I – ” she starts, hiccupping with her tears, “I – I’m a, communications, communications major. At – at – ” 

“If you’re a communications major, then you must understand that you need to get to the point,” Sulu says. He’s a foot from her now, the sword held down at his side. 

“I – I have a family. Parents, sisters. I’ve got friends. My roommate – ” 

“Why do you work at the office?” 

“I’m just an intern! I need internship credits for my degree! Please don’t hurt me, I have a _family –_ ” 

Sulu was wrong. Her not being gagged was a terrible idea. He wants this done, so he can enjoy the frenzy and clean it up and not want to rip Pavel apart tomorrow. Without warning, he lifts the sword and draws it across her throat. 

Nyota’s blood falls like a waterfall, spilling from the slit in her neck in a solid, red curtain. It stains her white blouse, spreading, red blossoms, dark and wet and so beautiful. Sulu knows she is dead already, but he watches her until the blood at the edges of the stains on her shirt start to turn brown. The only sound is his own heartbeat in his ears and throat and chest and all he tastes is saliva pooling in his mouth and mixing with the iron smell of her blood. 

He keeps one of those long, shapely legs. 

… 

The next night, they eat Italian food and Pavel smiles over a forkful of linguine. It leaves white sauce at the corners of his mouth, and Hikaru tries not to think of the red, red, red of blood where his pasta sauce is red instead. Pavel laughs and Sulu laughs, but Sulu never really laughs any deeper than the surface. He feels himself like one of those baby dolls they give little girls, the ones that cry and eat and piss and are _just like a real baby_ – but inside, they’re not, they’re a tangle of gears and machinery and unrecognizable things. 

When they finish dinner and leave the restaurant, they linger in front. Pavel shoves his hands in the big fleece coat he’s wearing and looks at Sulu with those big, big eyes. Sulu is left wondering what happens now. They met here. It’s not like Sulu picked him up. Pavel scuffs a toe on the pavement in front of the restaurant, then speaks. “Can I have a ride?” 

Sulu looks up at him questioningly. 

“I… took the bus,” Pavel says, blushing a little. 

“Let me drive you home,” Sulu says, although Pavel has already asked for a ride. 

Their breath fogs up the windshield on the way to Pavel’s house. If Sulu were alone, he would put the window down, even though the air is late fall chill. 

Pavel kisses him before getting out of the car, and Sulu doesn’t remember getting out of the car and walking into Pavel’s apartment but soon they’re fucking with Pavel’s bare ass on the kitchen counter and Pavel’s hands in Sulu’s hair and he’s making those little noises again, like a woodland creature or a child or something equally sweet and innocent and Sulu feels like a monster with dripping fangs and ripping claws and horrible, unspeakable parts hidden in shadow. Pavel has no idea what he’s letting inside. 

Sulu bites hard at the skin of Pavel’s neck and Pavel moans, _Yes, yes, da, please –_

This time, Sulu stays until the morning but he stays awake all night, ear pressed to Pavel’s wrist, hearing his pulse beating under pale skin. 

… 

Sulu pinches the bridge of his nose and looks down at the man tied to the chair 

“Look,” Sulu says, “I asked you to turn down that _fucking_ music, at least. That eyesore of a car is bad enough without you out there every _fucking day_ with that god-awful prog rock blasting.” 

Scott’s eyebrows knit at this, and he frowns against the gag – blessedly, back in place this time. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Sulu says. He starts to pace, back and forth, back and forth, carding fingers through his hair and clenching and unclenching fists. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know what you’re gonna say, ‘the car isn’t an eyesore,’ well, you’re _wrong._ And I can’t take it anymore. Hopefully your family will sell it once they realize you’re never coming home. I’m sure they can’t stand it either.” 

It hits his neighbor then that this is serious, this isn’t some stupid prank, this is _real life_ and real life is going to _hurt._ He struggles against his bonds, but if there’s one thing Sulu knows how to do by now, it’s bind them. The ropes are scraping at Scott’s wrists 

“What’s that stupid nickname you go by? Monty? No, _Scotty._ God. You’re a terrible fucking neighbor.” Sulu grips a baseball bat tightly. “Then again. I guess, I’m not a very good one either. Considering – ” and here, Sulu pauses as laughter bubbles up, uncontrollable, from the monster curled in his chest, “ – that I kill people.” 

Scott makes muffled noises against the gag, and tries to struggle so hard that the legs of the chair actually come off the ground a little. Sulu rolls his eyes, and puts the bat to use. 

Sulu beats and beats and beats until Scott is coughing up blood from a broken nose and missing teeth and shattered ribs. He’s crying, which Sulu thinks is not exactly very _manly,_ coming from a man who fixes cars and blasts rock music and has stupid bonfires every week in the summer. He probably _hunts._ Sulu is panting, exertion tightening the muscles between his shoulder blades and making his biceps shake. Circling, circling, he listens to his breathing and Scott’s sobbing, and when he feels the surge again, slams the bat into the back of Scott’s head. 

The sobbing stops, but Sulu’s breathing does not. 

The wood of the bat is stained reddish brown with Scott’s blood, and Sulu makes a mental note to burn it later. Maybe he should give it to Scott’s wife for one of their fucking bonfires. 

… 

It’s only days between the urges now, before the visions have him clawing at his skin in the dark when he’s trying to fall asleep, and 

He needs a torso this time. A torso. What use would he have for another of any of the limbs? He has one of each now. Left arm right arm left leg right leg. Sulu scratches somewhere on his neck absently. When he draws his hand away, there’s blood. He doesn’t bother bandaging the scratches. 

The next night, he goes to the bar again, the one where he met Pavel. Pavel is sweet, and texts him every day, at least, and who likes to go on dates and fuck hard afterwards. Sulu likes Pavel. It is miraculous, but he actually does. 

The other night, Pavel said, “I love you.” They were lying in bed after Pavel had cleaned both of their cum off himself, and he said, “I love you.” Sulu had said it back, because that was what humans should do, but he didn’t _mean_ it. He doesn’t really have feelings. Not like that, anyway. He feels anger and lust and hot, hard fear, but he doesn’t feel love. What he feels for Pavel is more an absence of the things that drive him to kill, and that’s as close to love as it really gets. 

There is a blonde-haired man at the bar who smirks at Sulu when he walks in. He bites his lip and looks Sulu up and down and Sulu buys him a drink, and another drink, and another. 

“Name’s Jim,” he says, lifting the first beer in thanks, and drunk already. 

“Hikaru,” says Sulu, remembering Pavel. No – he’s not here because of Pavel. Or maybe he is. Maybe once his work is complete, Pavel will be safe. 

After four rounds, Jim is drunk enough to reach over and grab Sulu’s crotch. Sulu takes him by the hand instead and leads him out to his car. 

*** 

_Pavel is just getting to the bar when he sees two men leaving it. Pavel isn’t at the bar to pick up on guys – he’s very happy with Hikaru, and he doesn’t mean to fuck it up. No, it’s more a dislike of drinking alone and a love of attention that drives Pavel out on a Friday night._

_Sure, he met Hikaru in a bar – this bar – but Hikaru really isn’t one for going out much. He’ll go on dates with Pavel, but he never wants to go out on the weekends, not even to the bar where they met. Hikaru isn’t exactly a social person. Pavel’s never even seen his_ house.

_What he sees now, though, is Hikaru, leaving the bar with some stumbling, blond god of a man. Pavel’s blood runs cold and pounds in his ears and against the lump in his throat. Hikaru wouldn’t. He wouldn’t. He doesn’t even like going out! Would he?_

_Pavel follows Hikaru where he goes, headlights of his car off and following at a distance, so Hikaru won’t see. It’s dark enough for Pavel to get away with it. He doesn’t know why he’s doing it. To confront Hikaru for cheating? Are they really even exclusive? Pavel tries not to think about it. What he does is follow, and watch._

_Hikaru drags the staggering man out of the car, and Pavel can see their forms in the orange light of Hikaru’s porch light. Why had Hikaru never taken him here? It had always been Pavel’s apartment._

_Pavel parks and waits for lights to come on, at least some sign of what’s going on inside. There’s nothing. For half an hour Pavel waits, then forty-five minutes, and nothing. If he’s going to do anything, he figures he should do it now._ /p>

_He leaves his car unlocked and storms up to the door. He doesn’t bother knocking. Hikaru either wouldn’t answer or would be able to hide that man or something, and Pavel wants to catch him at it._

_There’s no one in the kitchen, which is the room the front door enters onto. The place is quiet, not a sound from upstairs, not a creaking bed or a call of pleasure. Pavel pads as silently as possible through the house, looking for some sign._

_There’s a light coming from downstairs, in the basement. It’s only the light from under the door at the bottom of the staircase, but Hikaru must be down there. Pavel descends the stairs as lightly as possible, determined not to give Hikaru warning. He turns the handle and pushes open the door, creaking on its hinges._

_Hikaru is there, and so is the man he brought home. And there’s blood. So much blood!_

*** 

Sulu hears the door of the basement open as he stands over Jim’s mutilated body. He’s got one of his arms off and is working on the other, his shoes sticking to the blood on the floor. Sulu turns to face the door. 

Pavel stands in the doorway, paler than usual. Sulu drops the saw in his hand and blood splashes up onto his pants. It isn’t supposed to be like this. 

“I didn’t want you to find out,” Sulu says numbly. He takes a step towards Pavel, then another, and another. Pavel is rooted to the spot. “This isn’t about us.” He’s three feet away now, then two – 

Finally, Pavel regains control of his body. He tries to bolt back up the stairs, but Sulu is faster. He grabs Pavel first by the wrist, then by the throat. Like a lion wrestling down a gazelle, Sulu drags Pavel to the ground, and lays him on his back in the ever-spreading pool of Jim’s blood. 

Pavel squeaks and squeals, with ever-increasing urgency. Sulu slides up and puts his knees on Pavel’s forearms, both hands locked around Pavel’s neck, thumbs pressing into his trachea. Pavel struggles under him, but he’s always been smaller and weaker than Sulu. 

“I didn’t want it to be like this,” Sulu says. He hears regret in his voice. Interesting. He’s never felt regret before. “We had good times.” 

Pavel makes a strangled gurgling noise. His face is going red already, all that blood so close under the surface… 

“Look, if it has to be done, I’m glad to do it like this,” Sulu says, leaning down to whisper in Pavel’s terrified face. “It’s close. Intimate. Like all those times we fucked…” 

Pavel is struggling less now, losing strength as terror and motion and Sulu’s tight grip draw the air from his lungs. Big eyes watch Sulu, but Sulu doesn’t pay them any attention this time. He can still feel Pavel’s pulse under his fingers, weaker now, but faster, like a rabbit. “You were making things bearable, Pavel,” Sulu sighs through the exertion he’s putting on Pavel’s throat, “I really don’t want to lose you.” 

Pavel tries to swallow against Sulu’s hands, but it doesn’t work. His face is bright red, bordering on purple, and Sulu knows he’ll have to keep this up for a while for it to work. 

To his credit, Pavel struggles until he passes out. Sulu can still feel Pavel’s pulse under his hands, so much slower now than before. Time stretches and Jim’s blood soaks into Sulu’s pants and through all of Pavel’s clothes before Pavel’s heart finally stops beating. 

Sulu stands, feeling the ache in his muscles from the exertion of holding Pavel down. It reminds him of when they fucked in the shower, Sulu holding him up against the shower wall, all of Pavel’s admittedly minimal weight supported by Sulu’s admittedly minimal muscles. 

“Well,” Sulu says, to the silent room, and both bodies lying in Jim’s blood, “At least I’ll have a pretty face to finish it off.” 

… 

**Excerpt from the police report filed on Mr. Sulu, Hikaru S.:**

_Sulu was found in his basement, with a figure apparently sewn together to resemble a person. The figure was made out of the limbs, torso, and head of six different victims, though it is undetermined if Sulu has taken more victims than these six. The body parts are in varying states of decay, with the oldest limb – a leg from an apparently Caucasian male of as yet undetermined identity – aged approximately three months. The condition of the basement in which Sulu was found was deplorable, Sulu having not left it for approximately a week and a half, though it is believed that the final murder was committed approximately three weeks before the time of arrest._

_Sulu remains in custody and is to be tried on six counts of murder._


End file.
